Would You Like To Kiss?
by OrangePlum
Summary: In a dark bar in the middle of the night, Russia poses a seemingly random question that makes America nervous in more ways than one.


Author's Notes: Hey guys. It's been a while. I'm in a slump and life has been kicking my ass seven ways to Sunday recently. Have some RussiAmerica to quell your nerves at my slow updates.

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><p>Alfred had the urge to literally stop what he was doing and start cleaning his ears out.<p>

"Uh, what was that? I didn't quite catch what you said."

Russia smiled at him with that plastic little smile of his that he always wore, the dim lighting of the bar splaying shadows across his face and hair from their secluded booth in the corner, isolated from the other noisy patrons and the dull buzz of a football game on some TV vaguely heard under everything else. Alfred hesitantly took another sip of his beer when he saw Russia's nose crinkle, eyes pulling up more when his smile twitched for a moment, though it didn't quite reach those slits for eyes of his.

"I asked, _Would you like to kiss_, dear America," explained Russia so very easily, like this was a normal, everyday statement.

It so wasn't.

Alfred sloshed the foamy liquid in his mouth for a minute, eyes carelessly running across the features of the man across from him, trying to gauge where that comment had come from.

"Oh. That's what I thought I heard." _What the hell? Am I supposed to play along with this or something? Well, the night is still young I guess._

Russia waited a moment, long fingers snaking up to run down his scarf and pause at the frayed edges of it. When Alfred's expression did not change and he continued to drink and stare at him, Russia finally decided that was enough time for decision making.

"Do speak your mind, comrade. I am eager to partake in those silly little thoughts of yours," he smiled, noting with joy the small crease that formed between Alfred's eyebrows at the nickname 'comrade.'

"Okay… What do you want me to say? Yes or no?"

A shrug. "Whatever you wish."

Alfred ran his teeth over his tongue before giving a shrug of his own, pushing his cup aside for a moment, the amber liquid nearly gone now. He placed his elbows on the table and proped his hand under his chin. "Alright, then. Can I start by asking where that came from all of the sudden?" For all Alfred knew, he'd thought that lumbering giant was asexual.

"We seem to be on friendly terms recently, do we not?" Russia inquired.

Someone spat a curse at a bad play on the TV screen outside of their booth before Alfred pursed his lips. He was not fighting with Russia anymore on the stupidest things that happened at conferences and meetings, like his pride since the Cold War against the man known as Ivan Braginski seemed to be dying and not allowing him to be stubbornly spiteful anymore. And they had been coming to a bar on the last day of every conference for some reason for about six months now… But did that really constitute the word 'friendship'?

To make it easier on himself he just nodded.

Russia's smile grew a tad bit wider at that, giving a grand view to a whisper of white teeth beneath his lips. "We are in a suitable environment to help establish a friendly relationship as well, correct?"

A bar was always good for male bonding or spotting the couple of barsexual women who would get too drunk and start making out with each other and saving a man the trouble of watching some porn when he got home. Alfred's hand unconsciously snaked out to grasp the handle of his beer mug gently between his fingers, ignoring Russia's gaze following him.

Again, Alfred conceded. "Yeah. Okay, yeah. I'll give you that. But that still doesn't really explain the whole… that thing you said…" He couldn't get the words 'kiss' and 'Russia' out in the same sentence. It just tasted weird on his tongue.

"I was merely thinking that it would be a good way to establish a friendly rapport between Mister Alfred Jones and Mister Ivan Braginski, so came the proposition of a kiss."

Alfred stared blankly at the giggling man across the dim table in front of him, something squirming uncomfortably in his gut when seeing someone the size of a semi-truck giggling. But the longer he stared at Russia, the closer he could see that he was totally not lying right now. Why wasn't he lying right now?

Alfred sighed. A birds and the bees conversation it was.

"Uh-huh. Uh, dude, you know we could always just shake hands or something if you wanted to be friends. That's a normal thing to do." _Oh jeez, I'm really going to do a verbal contract and be his official friend?_ It felt all right to go out drinking with the guy, but it was just surreal to think of them as friends. Russia was just… a strange sort of guy.

When he knocked back his beer in three seconds flat Alfred had to force himself not to gulp.

"A kiss just seemed more appealing."

Ohhhh…

Alfred ran a hand through his hair and gave an uncomfortable smile, gazing outside of their booth for someone to step in and help him in here, not that anyone could see them from this angle. Sure he was drunk, but he wasn't _that_ drunk. He didn't know if he'd _ever_ be drunk enough to tongue wrestle with Russia. Not that he was ugly or anything. It was just, aside from his offputting and unpredictable nature, Russia was a _big dude_. His sheer size was intimidating, even to someone like Alfred.

Not that he would ever admit that out loud. He was the United States of fucking America. Nothing was supposed to scare him or intimidate him, not even Russia wanting to pin him down in that booth and– Okay, switching train of thought.

"Friends don't kiss, Russia," Alfred settled with.

Russia blinked those round, childish eyes at him before peering out the of the booth thoughtfully. He pointed a gloved hand as large as a serving plate out to the bar. "They appear to be friends but are thoroughly becoming intimate in the mouth area among other inappropriate places."

Alfred followed his line of vision and caught sight of those barsexuals he was talking about earlier. Something pulled uncomfortably down in his crotch region before he tore his eyes away from the pleasing scene only drunk men could appreciate.

"That's different. They're drunk."

"You're drunk."

Alfred wanted to slam his head against a wall. He let a bubble of laughter tinged with a tiny bit of suppressed hysteria float out of his mouth before fidgeting in his seat.

"Not that drunk…"

"Pardon?"

"I said that it's different for them. They're both small and stuff. You're- We're two full-blown dudes over here. Not just some dinky, scrawny guys, but people who have to hit the gym every other day at least to stay in shape for any problem that could arise as countries. It's cramped enough as it is."

Russia paused in his thoughts, regarding Alfred carefully before another of his smiles started to creep on his lips and give Alfred, well, the creeps.

"Oh, America, you are a funny man. That is precisely why I picked you as a candidate!" Russia announced jovially, clasping his hands together.

_What am I, running in a beauty pageant?_ "Come again?"

In the blink of an eye Russia was an inch away from his face, hand fisted in the collar of his shirt, keeping their eye contact strong. Alfred felt an involuntary shiver down his spine at the warmth of Russia's breath on his cheeks and the unique smell of coal, vodka, and so so so much frost that was all so very Russia.

"We are a perfect fit, my friend. I would break anybody else."

The truth of that statement accompanied with that stony and oh so intimidating gaze those violet eyes were regarding him with while a smile still graced Russia's lips was a horrifying yet frightfully thrilling revelation.

"O-oh-"

As if needing to prove his point, Alfred was practically dragged over the tabletop, drinks abandoned as the cups fell to the floor with a clatter, his body shoved "snuggly" in the corner of Russia's side of the booth, a large body pinning him down like a chilled blanket on a bed that was tucked just a little too tight.

Russia grinned down at him, face seeming that much more daunting now that the main source of already dim light was blocked out with his back to the bar. It probably looked strange, but from the secluded booth in the corner and the sheer size of Russia, Alfred doubted anyone would've said anything even if they _did _see anything.

Russia ran his fingertips slowly down the front of Alfred's chest, eyes following languidly behind.

"You are big yourself, dear America, but still nowhere near my size."

Alfred looked up, the air becoming harder to breathe as his heart _pound pound pounded_ away in his chest with some kind of anticipation and caution.

Russia looked up just then with a devious glint in his eyes as he cocked his head curiously at the blonde beneath him.

"Shall we see if you are big enough to not break under my hands?"

That hand in the back of Russia's hair and the feeling of unnaturally cold skin against his open mouth was completely voluntary with that growl rumbling like an avalanche in Alfred's chest.

Who was America not to accept a challenge?


End file.
